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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736166">Highlands Circle - Part 1</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecandrd/pseuds/rebecandrd'>rebecandrd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Highlands Circle [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlander, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimes &amp; Criminals, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Investigations, Partners in Crime, Serial Killers, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:15:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecandrd/pseuds/rebecandrd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three murders intrigue police officers from Inverness. Meanwhile, DCI Claire Beauchamp is a detective who has been working for the MPS for six years, but she hides secrets that not even the best London investigators could uncover. She has to step up and help with an investigation and sees an opportunity to leave some trauma behind. It's a challenging case but there, she meets young policeman James Fraser, an inexperienced and dreamy man. How can they work together to solve the mystery?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Highlands Circle [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A great and sudden change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi guys! I've been thinking about this story for some time... I have another fanfic published, Poetry Love, and for those who have read that story: well, this one has nothing to do with the romance there. Except, perhaps, for my passion for literature, so here and there you're gonna see some quotes that will fit the story. I think about publishing a trilogy: this first part will have 10 chapters, so get ready! I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> London, England </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was close to six in the afternoon. The day was no longer as bright as it had been most of the time. Of course, she could only guess how the sky looked outside, as she wouldn't be able to see it anytime soon.</p><p>Claire Beauchamp, 28, had been stuck in that room since two in the afternoon. There were four hours of absolute stress and irritation. Well, she wasn't exactly stuck. She was not forbidden to get up and go home. Unlike the man who looked at the ceiling as if something was interesting to admire.</p><p>She wanted to punch him in the chin. It would be a source of pleasure mid that boring afternoon.</p><p>Claire's partner cleared his throat; The interviewee's negligence made him feel gutted. The officers only had a few more minutes and then they would have to release the man. It was a race against time.</p><p>“So, uh, where were you again between 1:45 am and 2:30 am?”</p><p>“I kipped down for the night, weren't you, too?” he was being a sarcastic idiot.</p><p>Smith, the senior officer tried — an ineffective attempt — to get the man to admit that he had, in fact, been to the club. Beauchamp lowered her head to look at the images inside the file again... There was something that was going unnoticed, she knew that. But exactly what it was she couldn't be certain.</p><p>A girl had been raped at dawn. Claire hated dealing with that kind of case; she was a woman, so, of course, it affected her. Also because of her past, which she didn't want to think. But, mostly, because her co-workers were too insensitive to understand the victim, most of the time.</p><p>The woman in question was one of the dancers in the house. When she left, by the end of her shift, around 2 am, a man had approached her and taken her to an alley nearby. </p><p>She claimed that he was a client from the club. So now, the main suspect was the guy who refused to speak since he had arrived there.</p><p>The fact was: there was no evidence. Even though the man matched the superficial description given by the victim. Smith had even tattled about the woman not being in her “right state of mind” and that they could “ruin a man's life”.</p><p>Beauchamp knew that he was suggesting that the woman could be lying about the unsub's identity. The rapist had used a condom and disposed of it far away from where the officers found the victim. But the woman — whose name was now under wraps — had said that one of the clients was responsible for the crime. She was sure of it. She had seen him since the early evening, drinking with a few friends and several girls around.</p><p>The woman didn't remember much. Or rather, she tried to forget the terrible moments she had been through. But she did recall going out the back and realizing that someone was watching her. Someone was there. He grabbed her by the hair and stuck something sharp around her waist to keep her from screaming. She noticed some features of him, despite the man keeping her back to him throughout the act.</p><p>He was fat. She felt the lump on her back. And he also had a beard, because she felt something rough rubbing the back of her neck. The man also cursed a lot, whispering such nasty things she could even repeat. And, yes, she suspected that she had seen him earlier at the club.</p><p>“You said you were at the club once, right?” Beauchamp asked, without taking her eyes off the file.</p><p>They had come to Fleck because the victim had suggested that the man might be called “<em>Flick or Fleck, something like that</em>,” which she remembered hearing throughout the night. So Beauchamp pushed the officers to scan through the database and bingo! They had found a man booked for domestic violence named: Chris Fleck.</p><p>“I never set foot in that dirt,” he looked quite offended. “I'm a married man, eh? Ask my wife where I was last night and she will answer you!”</p><p>There were no security cameras inside the club. According to the manager, they "valued the description of their customers". So the officers couldn't prove that Chris Fleck had been inside.</p><p>For Claire and the team she led, the day had been busy and heavy.  Long hours searching for CCTV of the surrounding buildings. They had noticed some guys leaving the nightclub around the time the girl had been attacked... But the men had followed paths opposite to where they had found her.</p><p>So that's why they were holding Chris Fleck until that time. For new evidence to appear. That was until DCI Beauchamp's cell phone rang and she realized it was a message from Sullivan, the computer guy:</p><p>“We got him”</p><p>She smiled for the first time that afternoon.</p><p>Claire looked at the harmless glass window that hid the cops behind the room and nodded. Seconds later, one of the officers came in with a new file and handed it over. She opened it and analyzed the printed images.</p><p>They had spotted that a subject had driven in front of the site seven times between 1:45 am and 2:30 am. The car then remained parked on the opposite side for a few moments and next... Following a route — covered by the camera — that led towards the back exit.</p><p>And the license plate was from Chris Fleck's car. He had left the club before and driven a few times. Waiting for the right moment? Possibly.</p><p>“Do you have a white Ford Focus BD51 XDF?”</p><p>He snorted, “I'm sure you can do better than that.”</p><p>Claire ignored him and then selected a photo, stapled to the file, placing it on the table. She turned it around so the man could take a look.</p><p>“That’s your car, isn’t it? And I’m <em>sure</em> as hell that that’s you inside.”</p><p>“It’s  a quite popular car in Britain, isn’t it?”</p><p>She then showed the next photo, which indicated the license plate.</p><p>“Why did you pass the nightclub seven times between 1:45 am and 2:30 am? Were you asleep inside the car while it moved? Was your wife with you as well? Driving around the nightclub? Uh, that's not what I'd call a romantic adventure, isn't it?”</p><p>He looked at the lawyer and his face went blank.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Inverness, Scotland </em>
</p><p> </p><p>James Fraser, 23, noticed the wrinkled line on Sergeant MacKenzie's forehead and scratched his head. Being a newly formed police officer with little experience, it was even more difficult to have to work with such a surly person. For Jamie, work as a police officer had always been his dream. He had always had that desire to go after criminals. Long months had passed before he could finally wear the uniform and represent the Inverness DHQ Police Station.</p><p>The crime rate in Inverness and region was relatively low; the biggest adrenaline rush so far had been chasing a drug dealer on a Saturday night, while Jamie was on patrol. Things seemed very peaceful in the daily life of the town and that is why the district staff has been decreasing considerably in recent months. Nobody wanted to be a police officer.</p><p>People went out late into the night, children played late on the street, elderly couples didn't even have to lock the doors... until everything suddenly changed.</p><p>“It doesn't make any sense,” Sergeant MacKenzie said. “How could someone do—”</p><p>Dougal was analyzing the pictures from the crime scene and Fraser approached the table, where several of them were spread out; the woman photographed had been the third woman found in the Highlands in three months. The victims had the same characteristics: between 30 and 40 years old, fair skin, dark hair and — so far — it was the only connection between them that the police managed to formulate.</p><p>Officer Fraser felt a shiver down his spine every time he had to look at that scene; to imagine how those women had gotten there and, mainly, who would have taken them there, it was enraging.</p><p>Officer Angus Mhor cleared his throat, “Sir, the autopsy is done.”</p><p>The Sergeant dropped the photograph on the table. He and the other policemen — Fraser and Mhor — walked down the corridors, passing through several rooms in different sectors, going down some stairwells until they reached the “dungeon” where Ned Gowan, the medical examiner, took refuge.</p><p>The room was quite chilly and Officer Fraser — instinctively — found himself pressing the jacket against him, making Sergeant MacKenzie snort.</p><p>“Gowan, what d’ye have for us?” MacKenzie asked, taking a good look at the naked woman stretched out on the necropsy table.</p><p>The doctor looked over his glasses, with his head tilted, “good afternoon to you too, uh?”</p><p>MacKenzie rolled his eyes and mimicked his voice, impatient.</p><p>“Let's get on with it, tell us the cause of death,”</p><p>Jamie watched the doctor straighten his glasses over his nose and clear his throat, he feared for his next words.</p><p>“The same thing as the other two, and—”</p><p>“Why, it's not possible!” Sergeant MacKenzie was furious. “It can not be!”</p><p>Mr Gowan sighed; he was used to how Sergeant MacKenzie would behave every time something went out of his control.</p><p>“As I was saying,” Ned went on. “Asphyxiation. The killer used his hands. No prints again or anything we could use to identify him or her. Here,” He leaned slightly over the victim and pointed with his index finger for the reddish marks on the neck. “...we can clearly see the same marks as the other two and, judging from where this one was found, we can predict that—”</p><p>“They were killed by the same person,” Officer Fraser concluded, astonished. “Is this a serial killer, then?”</p><p>Dougal MacKenzie almost choked the man himself.</p><p>“Don't say that word here, d’ye understand? Nobody can know that!” he gritted his teeth.</p><p>Officer Mhur helped the doctor to put on the towel and cover the exposed body, visibly disgusted by the scene, “But, sir… Isn't that it? The same person—"</p><p>“Thank you, Ned— Come on, lads.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> London, England </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As DCI Beauchamp walked through Scotland Yard's dark — and almost empty — parking lot; she had a strange feeling that almost turned her on her back. Instead, she continued on her way, holding the gun tightly around her waist and the car key with her other hand, turning her knuckles white.</p><p>That feeling had become routine after breaking up with ex-husband Frank Randall. The man had not accepted the end of the relationship and, for some time, pursued her and went further — Detective Chief Inspector Claire Beauchamp had been a victim of domestic abuse.</p><p>That was something which she did not want people to comment on. She didn’t want to be known as the detective who had also been a victim. She didn’t want her colleagues to feel like she wasn’t fit for the job (which they did think just because she was a woman).</p><p>“Buckingham Palace, The Big Ben,” she said with irregular breathing, as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, already inside the car. “the bloody National Gallery— Uh, okay,” she took a deep breath again, “...the Tower of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral— and that’s it.”</p><p>She started the car and finally drove home.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Inverness, Scotland </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Officer Fraser woke to the sound of screaming children in the background; it was the usual thing, every morning, every day, at his family home. He lived with his sister, Jenny Fraser, who was a single mum of a wee boy.</p><p>They still lived at their parent’s home, in the rural area; it was a rather old house — more like a cabin — which definitely needed some repairs but neither of them had the money to, so Jamie now and then would fix something here, paint another thing there. </p><p>He always loved waking up to the view of the Highlands mountains, but lately, it was difficult to look there without remembering the murdered women. Jamie knew he had to protect his sister and nephew and would do whatever it took to catch whoever was doing all of that.</p><p>“Yer goin' out again without eating anything?” Jenny yelled as she watched her brother walk, struggling against the wind, to the vehicle.</p><p>Jamie turned around laughing, “it's okay, sis! I can survive long periods without food, like jungle animals—”</p><p>“And clearly has the ability to be a goon like a two-year-old,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head, waving as he walked away.</p><p> </p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>“Did she have any issues with anyone? Perhaps some enemy—”</p><p>Officer Fraser was interrupted by the interviewee, who wiped his nose with the back of his hand, “no, of course not! Mary was amazing, she had a lot of friends,”</p><p>“Okay,” Jamie nodded, crossing his fingers on the table. “D’ye reckon her mentioning something important? Anything can help... Maybe being followed,”</p><p>The boy shook his head, “she was going to buy a few beers at the market and the children would stay at their grandmother's until later. She'd just grab the cans and head to my flat,”</p><p>“Was that the supermarket she usually went to?”</p><p>“Yes, I think so, maybe—”</p><p>“Right,”</p><p>Fraser looked up; Sergeant MacKenzie seemed not at all pleased with that conversation, that was going nowhere.</p><p>“We’ll contact ye if we need any more information,” MacKenzie indicated, leaving the room followed by Fraser and letting Mhur finish the paperwork.</p><p>“It's a puzzle,” officer Fraser complained. “At least we know that she was taken from there,”</p><p>“Aye, we'll have to go over there later and check the security cameras and such…” MacKenzie replied. He noticed a figure sitting inside his office — Director Colum Campbell. Fraser looked at him from the corner of his eye and noticed the man taking a deep breath. “That’s bad, lads.”</p><p>Both entered the office, the police director, Campbell, nodded to their presence. For MacKenzie, that was a clear sign that things were — or rather, could — get out of hand.</p><p>“MacKenzie, Fraser,” the director greeted them, “how was the interview with the girl's co-worker? Any promising information?”</p><p>“Nah,” MacKenzie replied, crossing his arms. “But maybe we’ll have something this afternoon when we go to the supermarket where her car was found.”</p><p>Director Campbell did not seem much satisfied, “things seem to be progressing at a somewhat slow pace, don't you think? Your team is not getting anywhere.”</p><p>Fraser swallowed. It was always like this: Colum and Dougal always argued in the middle of some investigation; mostly because that should be Dougal's position, as a director, at least that's what he said when he was alone with the other cops.</p><p>“What? Listen, we’re doing all—”</p><p>“Ha!” the director leaned back in the chair; Jamie knew Dougal must be furious and thought about leaving the room, but maybe it would be better to stay and keep the conversation civilized, somehow. “Three dead women found in the Highlands and yes, you lot are certainly not being slow in the investigation,” now his tone had become more serious. “The Secretary of Justice knows and his simple request has been: this story cannot leak! No one must suspect that there’s a serial killer in this town! We have already managed to contain the press the last time, but who knows how it will be next—”</p><p>“Next?” Officer Fraser feared, “as in the next victim?”</p><p>“I believe we are talking about someone who will not stop until we find out who he is,” Campbell clarified. “And that's why—” He sat up straight again, lining up his jacket. “I’m calling Scotland Yard this afternoon,”</p><p>Dougal growled loudly and locked his hands into closed fists.</p><p>“Oh you bloody—There’s no need for that!”</p><p>The director took a quick look at Officer Fraser and he got the message; the man nodded and left the two of them in the room just so their conversation could continue. Jamie walked over to his table and sat on the armchair, while Angus devoured a bag of popcorn. He didn't know how Mhur still managed to eat a few minutes after seeing a corpse.</p><p>That made him feel sick.</p><p>Jamie was not opposed to the idea of getting help from other officers... He couldn't say the same about his boss MacKenzie, though; the man's screams were loud and clear for everyone to hear outside. But, at the end of the day, it was Campbell who still had to decide.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> London, England </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Claire woke up early, at five in the morning, as she always did. In fact, she had barely slept the night before; she dozed off at times, but always awakened by the uneasy feeling of being choked.</p><p>She usually had that feeling when she tried to sleep after an exhausting day (and, especially, when something served as a trigger for her to remember what she had suffered from her ex). Sleep paralysis was the name of the phenomenon, clarified by her former shrink during a therapy session.</p><p>The episodes involved her inability to speak or move when falling asleep or waking up. It usually lasted from one to two minutes, but it was a scary experience. </p><p>That combined with the “nightmares” factor made it impossible to sleep. She would, in due course, try to nap again during lunch, hidden in her office. People already knew that when she closed the blinds, it was synonymous with = do not enter or you will regret it to death.</p><p>The woman arrived at the London Metropolitan Police headquarters around 6:30 am; there were few cars parked which was normal. She was the only mad person who couldn't wait to go to work. She walked through the corridors, climbed elevators and finally reached the floor where she used to work. She passed the computer room and looked through the glass in the door; the woman smirked when she saw that the tech guy was there.</p><p>She entered her office and sat down on the chair after closing the blinds. Claire knew there was paperwork to sign and so she started work with the hope that it would make her sleepy. She didn't want to have to resort to medication, not anymore.</p><p>At about 11 am Claire was hunched over the pile of papers on the table; mouth slightly open and a soft noise emitted. The woman woke up alarmed to hear knocking on the door and stood, luckily, seconds before the Commissioner entered the room.</p><p>Claire remained motionless, staring at the most important woman from MPS walk the room elegantly. The woman wore the characteristic black uniform, with the medals sewn into the garment, on the left side.</p><p>“DCI Beauchamp, I hope I'm not disturbing you,” said Jocasta Cameron as she headed to the sofa in front of the wooden table. The woman sat down and waited for the DCI to walk across and sit next to her.</p><p>“Not at all,” Claire did so, pulling the chair opposite the woman and sat down.</p><p>“I hope your evening routine is getting better,” she indicated, with a keen eye, making Beauchamp blush.</p><p>Claire sat up straighter, instinctively tidying her hair behind her ear, “I've been sleeping much better, ma'am.”</p><p>Commissioner Cameron smiled kindly, although she didn't seem to believe the young woman's claim. She also straightened up on the sofa, with an observant eye, resting her hat on her lap and tracing its outline with her index finger.</p><p>“Unfortunately, I'm not here today to talk about your sleeping habits,” the woman began to speak. Claire listened carefully. “Do you remember when I mentioned my nephew? The young boy who entered the police force? Fraser?”</p><p>There was a straight line across Claire's forehead, but the woman nodded.</p><p>“Well, coincidentally, I got a call from a friend this morning... he's the police director in Inverness, and—”</p><p>“Oh, Inverness! I do remember. You talked greatly about him, your nephew.”</p><p>Commissioner Cameron nodded, “yes. Well, I would like you to help me with something, could you do that?”</p><p>“Sure, of course, ma’am,”</p><p>Claire intertwined her fingers and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop swinging her legs. What she managed, however, was to slow down.</p><p>“To get to the point: in recent months there's been a series of murders in Inverness, more precisely in the Highlands region. Three women were killed and found in the same circumstances.”</p><p>That left Claire extremely surprised. She had already helped in foreign cases before, but, in the last few months, only “simpler” jobs, so to speak.</p><p>"Okay, right. Let me think… Is there a relationship between the victims that the police have already identified?”</p><p>Jocasta smiled, "you said‘ the police have already identified it ’, it’s curious."</p><p>"Three dead women, found in the same place; there is certainly some connection that caused the killer to kill them," the DCI added, gesturing, now in her comfort zone.</p><p>“Yes, I agree, but the cops have yet to identify it,” Commissioner Cameron tilted her arms to support his elbows on her thighs. "And that is why I need you to help in this case, Beauchamp.”</p><p>“But of course, ma’am, I can—”</p><p>“There, Beauchamp. There. In Inverness.”</p><p>Claire's eyebrows went up and the woman did not know what to say.</p><p>“I need you to assist in this case, or rather, that you lead the police and find out who did it and why,”</p><p>“But— Listen, ma'am, when I came back a few months ago, you said yourself that I wasn't 100 per cent fit for work yet, and—”</p><p>The Commissioner raised her hands, surrendering and nodding, “yes, I know, but… I believe this is your opportunity to show that you are ready again. I could've talked to other people and you know that,”</p><p>Claire let the information sink in, thinking carefully about everything that was being said and with a mixture of anxiety and contemplation. So the commissioner wanted her to go and investigate a case, or rather, lead the case in another country!</p><p>“Listen, Claire, I know it's unexpected and, perhaps, frightening, but… I think after everything you've been through and, by the way, that I helped you to hide, your best option now is to leave this town and focus on your work away from here.”</p><p>Claire felt something between flattery and distrust; did the Commissioner trust her enough to leave her in charge of a case, but wanted her away? Maybe she was looking for an exchange of favours? But, on the other hand, the idea of investigating a new crime was exciting and challenging. Just how she liked it.</p><p>“You can trust me, ma’am. I— I will do my best.”</p><p>Commissioner Jocasta Cameron stood up, warmly squeezing the woman's shoulder as Claire stood up too.</p><p>“I know you will! Send my regards to my nephew when you see him, huh?” she said going towards the door. “Later, my secretary will bring you information about your flight and where you will be staying,”</p><p>And just like that, the woman went out the door leaving DCI Beauchamp standing in the middle of the room. And, with anticipation, to know what her next steps would be.</p><p>“Off to Inverness, it is.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”</b>
</p><p>― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p><p>  </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Imposed limitations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claire had never been to Inverness before. She had travelled to Glasgow and Edinburgh years ago, but not to Inverness, the Loch Ness's town.</p><p>In reality, she didn't have much time to think about the offer better; she just accepted. Maybe if she had thought too much she would be inclined to give up, so the best thing to do was pack up as soon as she got home.</p><p>DCI Beauchamp did not have a large family; her closest relative was her uncle, who had raised her after the death of her parents. But it had been a good life, despite the circumstances. However, she had never really been attached to places and people, so tidying up her items hadn't been that difficult.</p><p>The initial hesitation was due to going to another country, another town, meeting other people and getting away from what was comfortable. That would be hard for anyone in the same position as her. But, thanks to the <em> detached </em>nature she had acquired, the parting hadn't been that difficult.</p><p>Lucky for her.</p><p>She was now heading towards the police station in Inverness where she would meet her new co-workers and, finally, get to know the case properly. Colum Campbell, the region's police director, had given rather superficial information, which had left her a little puzzled about the seriousness of the case. Or maybe the police department there was just really incompetent. She sighed as Mr Campbell pulled into the parking lot in front of the building.</p><p>As she walked into the place, though, nothing, in particular, caught her eye. Except, of course, to when the tall red-haired man came to vision. <em> That must be the Commissioner’s nephew, </em>she thought to herself, as she glanced at him.</p><p>Director Campbell started with the formalities, reaching out to the woman to introduce her to the others. He seemed quite proud to do that. </p><p>“This is Detective Chief Inspector Claire Beauchamp, from the London Metropolitan Police. She was appointed by the Commissioner Cameron herself, which highly indicates her great ability to help us solve this case, and…”</p><p>Beauchamp smiled politely as the director continued his introductory speech. She, however, was focused on what the men on the other side of the room said. The tall bald man would certainly be the sergeant, and next to him was the redhead and the short one.</p><p><em> Oh, she’s a DCI, ye heard that? </em> Oh, indeed she had heard that. The woman crossed her arms over her chest; she loved seeing men acting foolish. It was always a great opportunity to put them back to their places.</p><p>In the end, Campbell led her, with a gentle hand on her back, to the back of the room, where the three men were.</p><p>“Mrs Beauchamp, this is Sergeant Dougal MacKenzie, officer Fraser and officer Mhur,” he indicated; the redhead was the only one who reached out to greet her and the woman shook his hand. “They, and the rest of the team I just showed you, are handling the case and certainly—” to which he said looking directly at MacKenzie, “will be at your disposal for whatever you need.”</p><p>“Thank you, Mr Campbell. I am also here to help,”</p><p>The man smiled, “splendid! Let me show you your office,”</p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Officer Fraser watched as DCI Beauchamp walked alongside Director Campbell towards her new office. <em> She seemed nice</em>, he thought but knew that his boss wouldn’t be happy with that.</p><p>Shortly afterwards the two returned to where the three were still standing; Angus was overly excited for the football game that would happen that night, being a big fan of the <em> Inverness Caledonian Thistle Football Club</em>.</p><p>Jamie had heard some comments before the woman arrived; the entire department knew she was going to work with them and some rumours started to circulate about, well, her personal life. It seemed to him that the stories among the policemen ran faster than the result of their work, apparently, and he didn't want to be a part of that. </p><p>Campbell said goodbye to them, as he had some commitments to attend to and left the DCI with the men. Jamie thought she looked a bit uncomfortable and he knew how intimidating Sergeant MacKenzie could be. Officer Fraser was staring; large dark eyes, black hair and fair skin. She was wearing the characteristic uniform: the white shirt with a black tie and a tight black suit over it.</p><p>“So, how would ye like to be called?” MacKenzie started, with mild sarcasm in his voice. “Detective? Mistress? Beau—”</p><p>“Well, ‘<em> ma’am </em>’ will do,” the woman said. Jamie suppressed a smirk when her eyes glanced at him. “So, it looks like I'm the only woman here,”</p><p>“Aye, but our department is quite diverse” Officer Mhur replied.</p><p>Jamie knew that Sergeant MacKenzie was a man of difficult temper and sexist habits; he obviously would not be satisfied with taking orders from a woman. But the young officer didn’t mind at all, even better when—</p><p>“Got it,” DCI replied, looking around. “On this team, then, it's just you three and the other men back there, correct?”</p><p>“And is there a problem with that? D'ye have any prejudice against men?” The sergeant crossed his arms, smiling.</p><p>“Well, Sergeant MacKenzie, I don't think I'm the one who makes distinctions here, do I?” she countered. Jamie was indeed surprised; that woman was a plucky little thing. “There's a meeting room here, isn't there? Well, let's get to work, shall we?”</p><p>“Excuse me?” MacKenzie now looked slightly irritated.</p><p>Jamie thought it would be a good opportunity to step in, “it’s over there, ma’am, in the back. Third door.”</p><p>The woman looked at them with friendly eyes and nodded, “thank you, Fraser. I assume that you lot should have all the files there, correct? Where your meetings on the case take place, is that so?”</p><p>Jamie and Mhor looked at each other and then moved their sight towards the sergeant. MacKenzie wasn't what one would call organized in that sense and that would be a problem. Ah, of course, just one more problem.</p><p>“Ye can just go ahead, ma’am, and we’ll meet you there,” Mhur suggested, hoping that she’d do as he said. </p><p>The woman nodded and turned around towards the corridor.</p><p>“What a plumpy bitch,” the sergeant whispered, stamping his foot against the floor. “We will see how she will lead this, ha!” he pointed to the two boys. “Remember, our reputation is at stake.”</p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>DCI Beauchamp was trying to control himself as much as possible not to get mad. The meeting room? Well, it seemed to have never been used for that purpose: to instruct and discuss the case in question.</p><p>When all of the officers on the team came in, including Sergeant MacKenzie, Fraser and Mhur, it became apparent to her that not all of them actually knew what was going on.</p><p>“Please, Sergeant, could you instruct me better about what has been happening? I would like to know in-depth about what you have already discovered,”</p><p>MacKenzie looked uncomfortable for the first time since she met him. She noticed his faithful squires, Fraser and Mhur, look at each other.</p><p>“Uh, three women were killed and— Well, for now, that's all we know,” he crossed his arms. “And it's all there,” the sergeant pointed to the box with some papers.</p><p>Claire took a deep breath and stood up; she rested her hands on the table and watched the faces of the men around her. They weren't going to make it — whatever it was — that easy. She asked one of them to bring some paper clips, tapes and pens to write on the whiteboard attached to the wall.</p><p>When they returned, the woman started writing on the board; she ignored the giggles she heard and went on. She called Fraser and Mhur and asked them to help her paste the images of the victims in the upper left corner of the picture, and to the side, she wrote: “women, between 30-40 years old, fair skin, dark hair,” and also “highlands” with some arrows linking the images to the place name. Better than nothing. </p><p>“Okay, now I think we can start,” she glanced at the sergeant, who remained seated with an arrogant pose. “Officers, three women died in a few months. They had the same physical features and were found in the same place. You know this region better than I do: why would the guy leave them there?”</p><p>Mhur replied, scratching his head, “we found them in Culloden, ma’am. Three miles from here. It is a pity that our history is being damaged this way,”</p><p>She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.</p><p>“They were close to the forest, as the pictures show,” Fraser indicated. “Hidden and protected by the natural terrain, which merges into marshy land, and thick plant life there.”</p><p>“So the unsub knows the area quite well, I’d assume?”</p><p>The sergeant cleared his throat, “probably, which wouldn't be too difficult. Fraser himself lives nearby. Some policemen here too.”</p><p>“I see,” she looked back at the images and then looked again at an open file on the table. “So, Anya Sawyer, 36, bank manager... She was seen by her co-workers going home and the next day she was found dead. The first victim,” she touched the image on the board with the pen. “Emma Connor, 42, a gynaecologist. She went out with her friends on Saturday night and the next morning, she was found dead in the same place, two months later.” She pointed to the next woman. “And finally, Mary Ann Gordon, 32, an architect. She was going to meet a friend for drinks at his house, but never showed up.”</p><p>“Yes, the jobs are quite different from each other,” the sergeant commented, crossing his arms.</p><p>The woman looked closely at the file, lingering on information that the police had not yet pointed out.</p><p>“But they had a good life, ma’am” Fraser commented. The DCI turned the body over to him. “Well, <em> an architect </em> , <em> a doctor </em> , <em> a bank manager </em>. These are excellent jobs.”</p><p>“I agree,” she took the pen to write on the board. “So we're suspicious of someone who, uh, doesn't like successful women,” she said, still using the sarcastic tone as she was watched by a room full of men. The sergeant sat up straighter. “And there’s something else,”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“They were all mothers. Single mums. I think that’s vital information.”</p><p>The men now seemed more alert than before; there was no more laughter or mockery in the room. Everyone was very attentive to what the woman was saying and seemed quite interested.</p><p>“So it’s a man, then?” an officer, in the back, asked. </p><p>Claire tilted her head, considering how best to respond, “well, 93% per cent of serial killers are, in fact, men... But we'll see.”</p><p>Sergeant MacKenzie stood up, arms crossed and stiff, looking at the board.</p><p>“So what do you suggest we do, <em> ma'am </em>?”</p><p>Claire ignored the tone he used on his voice and addressed the group as a whole, “we have to find out the reasons behind this. Young, successful women and mothers are being killed. Keeping our arms crossed is not how we're going to solve this,” all the men in the room improved their posture and looked at each other. “To the person in charge, I would like you to search the database for missing or dead women who have the same profile.”</p><p>“Uh, do you think he may have done this before, ma'am?” another officer asked. </p><p>“Just to be sure,” </p><p> . . .</p><p> </p><p>By five in the afternoon, Claire had worked a great deal already. Throughout the day she was sure that the team would have a lot to improve so that they could solve the case. She had been thinking about it all day and concluded that it would be important to review all things related to the crime, especially to contact people close to the victims. Again.  </p><p>But that would have to wait until the next day. Going to the home of the first victim, Anya Sawyer, collecting information and then moving on to the next one while letting Sergeant MacKenzie take care of… anything else. <em> That's the plan for tomorrow</em>, she murmured. Perhaps she'd get some help from Fraser and Mhur; they both seemed more inclined to listen and learn. </p><p>Before leaving, however, she decided to go down to see Ned Gowan, the medical examiner. During the meeting, they had said that no substances (such as alcohol, drugs, or painkillers) were found in the victims according to the drug test, but Claire wanted to be sure. Again. </p><p>“Afternoon,” she greeted the man who was sitting behind a desk looking at something on the computer. He had slightly grey hair, a pointed nose and small glasses on his face. “I'm a Detective Beauchamp, I'm gonna work here for a while,”</p><p>Mr Gowan got up from his chair and found her in the centre of the room, shaking the woman's hand.</p><p>“Good afternoon, my dear, I'm Ned,” he smiled. Claire winced at the contact. His hands were quite cold. “Sorry, the temperature here is a little <em> unfriendly</em>, eh.”</p><p>“Yes,” she agreed, looking around the room. There were three stainless steel tables where autopsies took place and, on the wall, the places where the bodies were kept. There were several drawers. A cupboard on the opposite side, a sink, and a door that signalled <em>toilet</em>. “Could you tell me a bit about the state in which the victims were found? What could you identify? The marks?…”</p><p>Mr Gowan raised his eyebrows, walking back to the chair, pointing at her to sit, but the woman declined.</p><p>“It's all there in the reports, didn't they show it to you?”</p><p>
  <em> But I do not trust the reports. </em>
</p><p>“Yes, they did. But— would you mind?”</p><p>Claire watched him loosen the tie around his neck, letting out a breath. She felt guilty about bothering the man when it was almost time to go. Maybe, like her, he was tired and, certainly, she could have left that conversation for the next day, but...</p><p>“Well,” he took off his glasses to clean them with his shirt. “All women showed the same signs: marks on the neck, well dressed, clothes intact, with no other signs of belligerence—”</p><p>“So they didn’t fight back,” it wasn’t a question. She was quite thoughtful with that information.</p><p>“Not that I know of,” he indicated. “No signs of drugs, alcohol—”</p><p>“That’s—”</p><p>But she stopped talking when she heard footsteps approaching.</p><p>“Ma’am?” Officer Mhur called, putting his head inside. “We’re heading off!”</p><p>The woman looked at her watch: 5:43 pm.</p><p>“Would ye care to join us for a bite to eat?” the man smiled and revealed some missing teeth in his mouth. Claire smirked; most coworkers wouldn’t dare to talk to her so freely.</p><p>It was her first day in Inverness with so much work and things to come, after the first clash with the sergeant it might be good to relax a little and get to know a bit more the men who would work with her.</p><p>“Sound nice, Mhur, I'll be there in a few—” she turned to doctor Gowan, who looked extremely bored. “Mr Gowan, would you like to join us?”</p><p>“Honestly, my dear, I just want to go home and sleep!”</p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>Fraser and Mhur took the woman to a pub near the police station; as soon as she entered the place, she realized that it was full of other policemen as well. So it was their meeting point at the end of the day.</p><p>She was glad when she noticed that MacKenzie would not accompany them. Yes, she knew she would have to work with the sergeant, whether she wanted to or not ... but the man had such sexist attitude that she just couldn’t bear it. The other two officers seemed to be nice.</p><p>“So, d’ye know my— the Commissioner? Mrs Cameron?” Fraser asked, taking a sip of the bitter drink. Mhur had met other policemen and left to play pool with them. </p><p>DCI picked up some chips and ate it before answering, “your aunt? Yes, of course. She is the boss.”</p><p>“Aye, she is,”</p><p>“She’s a great woman, I look up to her—” she commented while chewing. “She talked about you a lot once, a few months ago, she told us that you were close to graduating from the Scottish Police Service and such.”</p><p>She saw him blush, “yes, t’was at the beginning of the year. It must’ve been quite enriching to work with her,”</p><p>“It was. She’s helped me a lot—” she stopped mid-sentence to keep from touching unwanted subjects. “Now, tell me, what is it like to live near a crime scene?”</p><p>Officer Fraser smirked.</p><p>“I hold tightly to my gun, every night, but I must protect my family, ye ken.”</p><p>Claire nodded, noticing the man's unflinching posture.</p><p>. . .</p><p> </p><p>“I’m quite clueless, though, officer; I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours and, surprisingly, I’ve not seen anything about the murders in the press. Why is that?” Officer Fraser heard the woman ask and took another sip of the liquor. </p><p>The press was not very effective concerning that case, that was true. Mainly because the police director, Campbell, and Sergeant MacKenzie were holding the reins so the story wouldn't explode and the population would panic. They knew, however, that it would not be long. That, of course, if they didn't immediately arrest the killer.</p><p>He saw the DCI clear her throat and shake her head, she didn't seem satisfied with that.</p><p>“Well, it's a rather peculiar way of handling it,” the woman commented. Jamie watched her move her fingers through the strands of hair to pin it up in a bun. “But, I guess, I’ll talk to Mr Campbell tomorrow and we’ll see—”</p><p>“May I give you some advice, ma’am?” Jamie interrupted her, against his own will. He hadn't been working in that department for a long time, it was true, but it was long enough to know that some things shouldn't be touched. And the woman was an outlander. Maybe she should take it easy.</p><p>“It’s fine, officer, I’ve seen worse,” she simply said, getting up and saying goodbye; after all, she also needed to rest. “See you tomorrow, 7 sharp.”</p><p>He nodded and went back to his drink.</p><hr/><p>“You learn something valuable from all of the significant events and people, but you never touch your true</p><p>potential until you challenge yourself to go beyond imposed limitations.”</p><p>
  <b>― Roy T. Bennett</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys are enjoying this! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sweetest smiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well, the unexpected happened. DCI Beauchamp woke up late. For whatever reason, the night before, she had turned off her alarm and the damage was done. She had to be at the police station at 7, but that was the time she took the elevator down from the hotel she was staying at. Luckily for her, it would take another twenty minutes to get there.</p><p>There was something, however, that made her stop in the hotel lobby. Through television behind the reception desk, she recognized the facade of the police station in the background. Claire approached to hear what they were saying, but the sound was too low to understand. She just read the information on the screen and that was a surprise.</p><p>
  <em> Families of victims demand answers from the police. </em>
</p><p>The camera was focused on a group of people — the family members — thus identified and they held signs asking for “justice” and demanding “answers”. They also held pictures of the women.</p><p>“Crikey!” </p><p>The woman ran out of the hotel, ignoring the doorman's banter as she stopped on the sidewalk in search of a taxi. The street was relatively empty and there was no sign the damn vehicle. Or maybe she should remember that she was no longer in London and should stop looking for black cars. The woman murmured, irritated. </p><p>Her phone rang and it was Director Campbell; he would pick her up in a few minutes and wanted to know if she was ready. The woman sighed with relief but knew what was coming when she got to work.</p><p>. . .</p><p>“I think we should organize a press conference for this afternoon,” DCI suggested, as police director Campbell and Sergeant MacKenzie looked at each other inside her office. “Or things will get worse and the people might—”</p><p>Sergeant MacKenzie chuckled, he seemed reluctant at the idea. The director was quiet, with a frown, thoughtful. </p><p>“I've spoken to the press many times,” Claire continued. “We can make an effort to get the media to, I don't know, indirectly assist in the investigations and serve as a tool.”</p><p>“Let’s do it now, then,” MacKenzie suggested. “Ye said yerself ye’ve done it many times… why wait?”</p><p>That was the first real moment the detective felt nervous since she got there. Yes, she had spoken to the press on other occasions in the past, during other cases. But, of course, always having a script of what she would say and prepared in advance. But it was what she needed to do. The woman asked the men for five minutes alone inside the room and for them to notify the people and the press outside that she would provide some clarification.</p><p>She cleared her throat, “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Claire Beauchamp and I’m here to—”</p><p>“<em>Is it true that you came from the London Metropolitan Police? </em>” a reporter stretched the microphone closer to her, interrupting the woman in the middle of the sentence.</p><p>Claire glanced at the director on her side. </p><p><em> How the bloody hell did they know that? </em> She wasn’t sure. </p><p>“As I was saying, and yes, <em> I’m from London </em>— I am here to help in this case and I guarantee that we will do everything possible to find the person responsible—”</p><p>But she was unable to finish the speech, as other people's voices started to get louder and louder, objecting to what she was saying.</p><p>“<em>But you just got here! It’s been five months,” </em> it was the cry of someone she could not identify. </p><p>“I, yes, but— It’ll be different now, and—” and that was what sent her off balance. She had the unsettling impression of seeing an old, familiar face, amongst the crowd. But that couldn’t be possible, right? It couldn’t be him.</p><p>The woman was paralyzed. Even when, suddenly, the police had to contain a furious group of people and Fraser and Mhur took her inside. DCI Beauchamp tried to reason and to think; murmuring under her breath, “<em>Buckingham Palace</em>—”. That couldn’t happen. Not there. </p><p>. . .</p><p>Officer Fraser and Officer Mhur took the detective back inside the police station and were followed by Sergeant MacKenzie and Director Campbell. The families were enraged and they were not going to leave for now. It was understanding that they felt that way. Five months of absolute silence from the police was sure to make them angry. </p><p>Jamie heard the sergeant tease, “I knew it wouldn't work. T'was a great idea!” and the DCI cursing for the first time.</p><p>The woman looked pale and Director Campbell had to intervene.</p><p>“I think... Well, it was our mistake, MacKenzie,” said the boss. “We should have provided some clarification before, and—”</p><p>The sergeant snorted.</p><p>“Please! As if that would help us in any way!” and he scratched his bald head. “Now they’ll <em> piss us off </em> every single day, ye’ll see!”</p><p>Jamie approached the woman, who was leaning against the wall while there were still screams outside. Two policemen came in, holding a man in handcuffs who was struggling to get out of the way.</p><p>“Listen,” the woman said, drawing the men's attention. “Make an appointment for this afternoon, just the press. There's room in here for that, I assume, right? Great. We will answer some selected questions and—” She sighed. “This is <em> really </em> not part of my job, ask someone in the communication to come to my office later.”</p><p>Jamie saw her striding along the hallway, ignoring MacKenzie’s mocking face and followed her. He then asked if the woman would like some water, to which she nodded and he and Mhur went towards the end of the corridor.</p><p>“Holy God, what a mess!” Mhur commented.</p><p>“Aye,” Jamie replied as he took a disposable cup and filled it with water. “I knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later,”</p><p>Mhur nodded, they had talked about this before. Sergeant MacKenzie and Director Campbell were constantly fighting, but in one thing they both agreed: they didn't want the story to spread and the press to put pressure on the police. Which, well, for Jamie, would not work... Three women had already died and it was understandable that the families sought answers (even though they had none to give).</p><p>Honestly, for the young policeman, he hoped that DCI Beauchamp would be able to help them sort it all out. She looked strong, smart and experienced. And for him, she was a person to admire.</p><p>When they returned the woman was not there anymore, so Jamie walked over to her office.</p><p>“Excuse me,” the officer put his head into her office and saw the woman with her head down, supported by her hands between the strands of hair. “I'm sorry, ma’am. Your water.”</p><p>The man entered the room tentatively, nodding when he saw the woman's grateful expression.</p><p>She managed to smile.</p><p>“And we talked about it yesterday, didn't we?” she commented while taking a sip. “The day started just great!”</p><p>He agreed, “it seems that the peaceful life of this city is gone.”</p><p>“I would like to see this one day, but for now…”</p><p>. . .</p><p>Claire took a deep breath as she prepared herself, her hands were quite sweaty. Some journalists were already waiting for the press conference to begin, around four in the afternoon. The woman entered the room with Director Campbell and Sergeant MacKenzie; some policemen were also inside to assist.</p><p>Sergeant Campbell began to speak, presenting the facts about the case and what they had found up to that point, but he made sure to mention that “<em> everything was under control</em>,”</p><p>Which didn't seem like an idea.</p><p>“<em>If everything is under control, why the presence of a London investigator? </em>” a reporter asked, taking the sergeant by surprise.</p><p>Claire offered to answer the question.</p><p>“Well, I'm here at the request of the Commissioner Cameron to assist with whatever is necessary, which does not mean that, uh, the policemen who are here are not able to solve it themselves.”</p><p>There was a little buzz in the room, but the woman then proceeded to answer the other questions.</p><p>“<em>Do you know if the three women were killed by the same person? </em>”</p><p>Director Campbell cleared his throat, “we can't know for sure, because we haven't found the suspect yet, but— We believe so, for several factors.”</p><p>“<em>So this is a serial killer, then? </em>”</p><p>“Well, according to several studies, when three victims are killed by the same person, it can already be considered a serial killer, so, yes,” the detective took the floor. “What we want, then, is to warn the citizens about what is happening… When we have more information, we will inform them. <em> From now on</em>.”</p><p>. . .</p><p>The next day, all the major newspapers in the town broadcast news about the interview given by the police the day before and there were still many questions to be asked, but they did not know when they could answer.</p><p>Claire wanted things to happen faster. She knew that something fundamental to the investigation was to profile the subject, but there was still little material with which they could work. </p><p>“The victims were found in the same mountainous region of the Highlands, with asphyxiation marks on their necks and no signs of using drugs or alcohol. How did he get them there?” It was a rhetorical question, but the woman was inclined to listen to suggestions. "How can anyone do that?"</p><p>“Perhaps the suspect knows something about these women that we don't know,” Officer Fraser suggested.</p><p>Next morning, Beauchamp decided that they should go to the home of the first victim, about 40 minutes from the police station. She was accompanied by Fraser and Mhur; their car was a complete mess, with bags of snacks and bottles of soda in the back seat. Well, at least she didn't find condoms there, which was already a big relief.</p><p>Anya Sawyer, the bank manager, had lived in a very cosy and neat two-story house. There was a beautiful garden in the front, with well-cut grass. The policemen, next to the detective, were greeted by an elderly woman in her late 60s. The victim's mother. </p><p>“I saw ye on the telly yesterday,” Mrs Sawyer commented, looking at Detective Beauchamp. “What is the reason for this visit?” </p><p>The lady directed them to the living room, where Fraser and Mhur sat on the wide sofa while Beauchamp busied herself with watching the photographs on the walls.</p><p>“We just want to ask ye a few questions,” Fraser replied.</p><p>The lady leaned back in her chair, “I told the sergeant everything months ago,”</p><p>Officer Fraser sighed. He remembered it well, right at the beginning of the case, when Sergeant MacKenzie had suggested that the woman — until then unknown — could be a prostitute.</p><p>“Aye,” the police officer nodded. “Well, d’ye mind if I record this conversation?” He asked, holding out his cell phone. The lady shook her head. Jamie pushed the button and asked, “D’ye remember Anya mentioning something suspicious? Something that was making her worried? For example, feeling like she was being followed by someone? Anything like that—”</p><p>That sent a shiver down Detective Beauchamp's spine, who tried not to look uncomfortable. but she let the officer go on, he seemed quite good at it. </p><p>“It is normal to forget some things, madam. But whatever ye remember can help. ”</p><p>“Yes, I already said that Anya said a few times that when she got home, it looked like someone was watching her — she said that a couple of times. A different car on the street one night,”</p><p>“What d’ye mean?” Mhur asked.</p><p>“A car that didn't use to come by... She once said that she had a car parked on the corner at dawn, when she arrived from a party and the next day, too, when she returned from work.”</p><p>Claire turned to the woman, “You have two grandchildren, correct? Anya's?”</p><p>The lady raised her eyebrows and nodded. There were some toys scattered on the carpet.</p><p>“How was her work routine? What time did she leave and return home?”</p><p>“She worked hard to support this family—”</p><p>“I understand,” the detective gave her a sincere smile. “I'm just trying to gather as much information as possible to try to find out why it happened.”</p><p>The lady nodded, while Fraser got up and had to stop the recording. His cell phone was ringing and it was someone from the police station. He apologized to the detective and left the room, heading for the front door.</p><p>“She wouldn't spend much time with the kids then?”</p><p>“Yes, it is true, the job exhausted her completely.”</p><p>Officer Fraser stepped in again; the expression on his face caught Claire's attention. The man approached her and whispered, “we need to go now,”</p><p>A trace of unsureness filled the woman's forehead, but she nodded and Mhur stood up. They thanked Mrs Sawyer and left the house, promising to inform her when they had new information.</p><p>As they got into the car, Fraser turned on the ignition, with Mhur and Beauchamp's eyes staring at him with great expectation.</p><p>“Spill it out, mate!” Mhur groaned.</p><p>Fraser looked at Detective Beauchamp, who was sitting next to him.</p><p>“They’ve found a new body. In Aviemore. ”</p><p>The woman let out a frustrated growl and scratched her head.</p><p>“<em>Aviemore</em>, where is it?” the woman asked as Officer Fraser drove away from that neighbourhood.</p><p>“It's about an hour from here, a city located within the Cairngorms National Park in the Highlands.”</p><p>“Do you know how to get there?”</p><p>“Aye,” Fraser replied, looking away to look at her again.</p><p>“Then that’s where we’re heading,”</p><p>Mhur asked from the back seat, “Shouldn't we go to the police station first?”</p><p>“No, we will do as I say, if you’re comfortable with that,” she replied.</p><p>. . .</p><p>The three were in the car heading for the crime scene. DCI Beauchamp had called and told Sergeant MacKenzie where they were going. Along the way, they discussed a bit about the case and Jamie took the opportunity to hear closely everything the detective said. She was a person full of knowledge and it deeply caught his attention.</p><p>The detective was the first to get out of the car and soon realized that it would not be so easy to get closer to the scene. There were already some journalists and they ran to surround her when they saw her, asking several questions.</p><p>Jamie took a step forward, making his way through the crowd, with Angus's help so that the detective could reach the security barrier. He had a hand, gently, on the woman's back to guide her. They presented the badges and the DCI walked to talk to an Aviemore police officer.</p><p>The man watched the detective walk deeper into the woods, the area had been marked by the police, leading to a path. Jamie thought that the cops there had done a better job than those on the team he was on.</p><p>Some policemen were walking back and indicating where they were supposed to go. Jamie kept some distance between him and the detective and let her get there first. What he did notice was that the woman seemed visibly shaken by the scene; the victim, lifeless, wide-eyed looking into the void. He thought she was going to fall, so he approached her body quickly. </p><p>“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked, but the woman shifted away as if she had been shocked.</p><p>“I'm fine, officer. Please— <em> Do not </em> touch me anymore without my consent.”</p><p>Her speech was so sudden and harsh that it made the man speechless. But he managed to apologize and step back. He had the impression of hearing her murmuring something, but couldn’t quite understand what it was. Anyhow, the man stepped away, making sure to keep a safe distance. </p><p>. . .</p><p>Seeing the scene had left the detective slightly shaken; the woman lying on the floor made her think a lot about herself, and the words of Mrs Sawyer that she heard earlier that day echoed in her head “<em>it looked like someone was watching her </em>”. That poor woman was now dead and they were unable to help.</p><p>But the detective would be lying if she said it was the only thing that had shaken her. She remembered herself, lying on the floor, two years ago, when—</p><p>“Excuse me, lady. I am the coroner, I have to—”</p><p>Claire took a step back, letting the man approach the body.</p><p>The cause of death had been asphyxiation and, according to the man's analysis and the state in which the body was found, she had been dead for about twelve hours. Twelve hours ago the killer had been there, and that was all that circled through the detective’s head.</p><p>She then made a decision and asked forensic experts to be called, as she wanted them to scan the area as much as possible for any traces. After some time, they returned to the police station and, by the end of that afternoon, the body was sent for a complete autopsy with Mr Gowan. </p><p>Upon arriving at the police station, they received more news. On the first day she was there, the detective had asked them to search for missing women who had the same profile as the victim, and now they had found it in the database. They had found fifteen missing women who matched the descriptions: fair skin, dark hair, single mothers, good work and reputation. And that was scary, mainly because the police had barely investigated what had happened.</p><p>That situation seemed to get worse by the day. The more they dug, the more they would find.</p><p>The detective entered the autopsy room and seemed to startle Mr Gowan, who was hunched over the body.</p><p>“I'm sorry,” she apologized, approaching. “I'd just like to know what you've managed to find,”</p><p>It seemed to surprise him at once.</p><p>“Oh,” he adjusted his glasses. “The sergeant usually comes the next day,” he commented.</p><p>The detective nodded, crossing her arms.</p><p>“But, of course, there is no problem with that, ma'am,” he offered a smile. “I heard she's been identified, correct?”</p><p>“Yes, her name is Jessica Bell, thirty-seven. She lived in the Aviemore district for about five years. She moved there with his young son to work.”</p><p>Gowan nodded, putting his gloves back on.</p><p>“Again, ma'am, the same marks on the neck.”</p><p>Claire sighed, frustrated.</p><p>“Any trace? Any fibre, any hair? <em> Anything</em>?”</p><p>The doctor shook his head. It seemed that the killer was a specialist, according to Ned, a perfectionist and extremely careful not to leave any clues that might point back at him. The woman felt helpless. Despite being in that town only three days, those crimes have been around the region for a long time.</p><p>She watched Ned collect the materials from the table and studied the woman's face. It was never easy to look at a lifeless body and know it was in your hands to find out who was responsible for it.</p><p>“By the way, madam, I'm sorry for all the hoopla yesterday,” he mentioned. “I imagine it must have been quite upsetting.”</p><p>She chuckled, “it was a nightmare, really. I thought someone would grab me and—”</p><p>“You should be careful from now on,” the way he spoke made her anxious for some reason. “I say that because, well, you know, we are in the police and we get directly involved with so many things... I imagine you must have been through worse things in London.”</p><p>She nodded. Yes, things in London had been much worse. And what he didn't know was that she felt like she was constantly in danger and that was a never-ending emotion. She knew that a lot was due to everything that had happened between her and her ex-husband; PTSD was a consequence. But the woman wouldn't let that get in the way of her work. Not again.</p><p>For this reason, before leaving that night, around seven, she saw the tall redhead sitting in his armchair, typing something on the computer and swinging his legs over and over.</p><p>She was not proud of the way she had treated him; she knew she could have spoken differently and, yes, she could just let it go. But she didn't want to be that person. So, Claire approached him, thankful that he was the last one remaining in the room at that moment.</p><p>She cleared her throat and he looked up, startled. </p><p>“D’ye need anything, ma’am?”</p><p>Claire bit her lip, as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.</p><p>“Yes... I'm sorry,” she noticed the surprise on his face and added. “I wasn't very kind to you earlier today and I don't want you to think I have that habit.”</p><p>The man nodded, his mouth slightly open.</p><p>“<em>T'is </em> fine, ma'am.”</p><p>“Now, please, go home. It's already late and—”</p><p>He pointed to the screen, “I need to finish this report—”</p><p>She shook her head, leaning to the side to glance at what he was doing.</p><p>“It doesn't seem like anything that can't wait another day, officer.”</p><p>The corners of his mouth narrowed in a smile and he nodded again.</p><p>“Go home and stay with your family. Your wife will be pleased,” she added.</p><p>Fraser stood up, taking the jacket and passing it through his arms.</p><p>“I've had no wife, ma'am. It's just me, my sister and my nephew.”</p><p>The woman did not know that. Although he was young, Fraser looked like a very mature and hardworking man, so she guessed that he had already formed a family.</p><p>“Oh, I see,” she stepped to the side for him so he could walk. “Nevertheless, go home and enjoy your family.”</p><p>He nodded and took the rest of his belongings, putting them inside his pants pockets. Another policeman appeared by surprise, wanting to speak to the detective before she left. Jamie noticed the woman's tired expression and decided to say it.</p><p>“If you allow me, one day you could come and have dinner with us, ma'am.” Was that sympathy in his voice? Maybe he felt sorry for her having to go back to a hotel room while he went home? Or perhaps, judging by the man's shy smile, it was just a genuine invitation? “My sister cooks very well, perhaps not as well as the hotel's chefs, but—"</p><p>Claire smiled.</p><p>“Thank you, Fraser. Maybe another night,”</p><p>“Aye,”</p><p>She heard him say “<em> night </em>” and turned to speak to the other policeman, who didn't seem to be bringing good news.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Madam, I know you're on your way home, but… Sergeant MacKenzie is still in his office. Well… some policemen helped in the search, all afternoon and started to find some… traces.”</p><p>It took her full attention and the tiredness was momentarily forgotten.</p><p>“What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“Bones, ma'am. We found some human bones at Aviemore. And it looks like the cops in Culloden are going to do the same search tomorrow and we'll get more answers. We also asked them to look for where the first victim was found and—”</p><p>Bones. Bloody hell. Yes. The more they dug, the more they would find.</p><hr/><p>“The sweetest smiles hold the darkest secrets...”</p><p>― <b>Sara Shepard, </b> <b>Flawless</b></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh! sooooo, what do you think? :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Voyage of discovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> In her dream, Claire was back in Aviemore, in the middle of the forest. It was still daylight, but the tall trees blocked the passage of light completely. She heard a familiar voice in the background and felt a chill go up to her spine to the base of her neck. She walked through the forest, slipping on the sticky, wet surface while trying to get away from the voice. But the more she tried, the more she seemed to get closer to it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She recognized the scene after a few seconds and almost fell back when, behind a rock, she came across a woman on the ground. The same one she had seen before. But suddenly, when she came over to get a better view of the victim... It was her. It was her face. That was her, lying on the floor, with scuff marks and lifeless. The woman felt terrified and that feeling got worse when she felt two hands around her neck. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Claire turned quickly and came face to face with him. </em>
</p><p>She woke up suddenly, her breathing irregular and her eyes popping out of their sockets. The woman quickly switched on the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed and got up to go to the bathroom, making sure to turn on the bedroom lights on the way. She looked at herself in the mirror, letting her eyes linger on her neck, noticing the smooth, spotless skin. She was okay.</p><p>At least physically. It was close to four-thirty in the morning and she knew she would be unable to sleep. She turned on the television, leaving it on the children's channel, to try to untie her thoughts from the stubborn images that insisted on returning.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Three years ago. London, England </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em> Frank had arrived later than usual that day. It was Sunday, close to eight o'clock and he had spent the day in a gathering with friends from work. Or so he had said. Claire spent the day watching television and eating. There was not much to do and she still did not have many friends in the city. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You could at least have washed the dishes,” was what he had said as he went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The woman nodded as she approached him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It took you a while to come back, I thought you're going to sleep over there,” she commented, picking up the sponge to wash the first dish. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I was having fun, what's the matter with that? My friends have a lot of kids, they played all afternoon,” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The man walked up to the room, staggering before he reached there and knocked over a picture frame from the sideboard. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck, why do you always keep things scattered around the house?” he grunted, as he took off his shirt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Claire walked over to pick up the glass from the floor and was surprised to see him standing in front of her again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How about getting on your knees and pleasing me a little?” he smirked and wrapped his hands around her waist. The woman sighed and noticed that he was inches from stepping on a piece of glass. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You know, babe, after everything you've got me through, it's the least I get home and find some of what I want,” he put a hand on the back of her neck, letting his fingers catch a wad of black hair and pulling down. “Because my wife is unable to give me a damn son,” he laughed sheepishly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Claire noticed that the gun was still attached to his waist, under his pants and tried to move her fingers over the man's stomach to get it out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nah-ah,” he held her hand with his free hand. “I do not trust you around guns, remember?” Frank laughed again, taking her wrist and pressing it with his fingers. “Never trust Claire Beauchamp with a gun,”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The woman locked her jaw, irritated, taking a deep breath and trying walk away, but the man went faster and turned her back against the wall. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You know, uh, it's kind of useless trying to compete against me, right?” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You are drunk, Frank and I really don't want to—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She felt his hands go under her sweater and she squeezed her legs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He grabbed the woman's hair again, pulling her head back and then pushing hard against the wall. Claire let out a cry that was drowned out by his hand covering her mouth. </em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Officer Fraser walked down the aisles of the police station towards the meeting room with the results of the first reports from the Department of Forensic Anthropology of the London Metropolitan Police. Shortly after finding the bones, all the material was sent to London, at the request of DCI Beauchamp — which made Sergeant MacKenzie disgusted, after all, according to him, the Inverness unit could do the job faster. Jamie felt that the woman did not trust the Inverness police department much, although she did not explicitly expose it. And he didn’t blame her for that.</p><p>The work of the forensic anthropologist was fundamental in the analysis of skeletonized corpses or in different states of decomposition, whose human remains were no longer identifiable from physiognomic features, such as mummification or saponification. According to the DCI, those results would be extremely important for the progress of the case and for them to draw a correct profile of the serial killer.</p><p>He opened the door, finding a pair of green eyes looking at him with some expectation. He handed her the folder and sat next to Angus around the long table. In the room were just him, Angus, three other policemen, Sergeant MacKenzie and the detective.</p><p>“...I mean, it will probably take a lot longer to identify these bones,” he heard the sergeant continue the conversation he had started before he entered the room.</p><p>The detective opened the folder and took a look at what was written, while saying: “to identify their identity, yes, but to determine sex and the cause of death is <em> easier</em>, so to speak.”</p><p>The sergeant murmured, while the detective continued to read the papers carefully. There was silence in the room and the man grew antsy.</p><p>“So? Let me guess, <em> woman</em>?” he said, his voice echoing sarcasm, but the detective seemed immune to the man's lack of education. “Very convenient.”</p><p>DCI Beauchamp threw the file on the table, towards him.</p><p>“Yes, the bones which we found in Aviemore belonged to a <em> woman</em>,” the woman confirmed. “As the report says, the victim should be between 30 and 40 years old,”</p><p>“Can they say precisely how long ago she died?” Jamie asked, curious.</p><p>“Well, officer,” she looked at him with kind eyes. “Not precisely, but about eight months to a year... So let's go back to our database search,” she looked at the tech guy, Rupert, and he nodded, “...to check the women that went missing around that period.”</p><p>“But how do we know if that <em> person </em> was killed by the same man?” the sergeant countered, crossing his arms.</p><p>Jamie caught sight of the woman rolling her eyes and taking a deep breath. He didn't think that anyone else saw that but him. He smirked, but when he noticed her glancing at him, he quickly changed his posture.</p><p>“It's all there, in the report, sergeant. I <em> advise </em> you to take a good look,” she smiled slightly. “Well, they found blood residues in the neck bones, which indicates bleeding at that specific area, as well as fractured bones there, the hyoid bone included.” she clarified. “About the victim, they were able to identify her by analyzing the pelvis and face bones. For example, the mandible had more discreet condyles and the chin was not very prominent,” the woman said as if it was obvious to understand. “In other words, a woman.”</p><p>Officer Fraser looked at her in awe, because it was <em> fascinating </em> the way she would always explain things like she completely <em> owned </em> the subject and knew it by heart.</p><p>“Ye seem to know a lot about it, ma’am,” he heard Angus comment, while the sergeant stuck his face in the report's papers as if checking what she had just said.</p><p>“Not really, but I’m a massive enthusiast of Forensic Anthropology,”</p><p>Sargent MacKenzie cleared his throat. </p><p>“So how do we get the bloody bastard?”</p><p>That was the moment when the detective was most thoughtful during the meeting. That story looked like a maze, with no way out. How to find out who was killing all those women if the individual left no clues?</p><p>“I believe we need to understand why,” the detective suggested. “And then we'll find out who he is.”</p><p>“There are some questions that can help us: first, how does he take the victims there?” Officer Mhur asked.</p><p>Jamie shook his head, “I think this one is <em> way </em> too complicated for us now.”</p><p>“He hates women, for some reason,” the sergeant added. “The chap is nuts,” he chuckled.</p><p>DCI Beauchamp rested his elbows on the table, still frowning.</p><p>“Not just women, it is more specific than that,” she reminded him. “They are single mothers.”</p><p>Jamie nodded, “maybe he was raised like that? Just by his mother?”</p><p>“But why would he hate her? His own mum?” another policeman asked.</p><p>“Maybe... maybe she blamed him? For the situation? For, I don't know, raising him on her own, working…” the detective suggested, looking back at the board ahead with the information about the case. “Maybe he thinks he's helping them,”</p><p>“Or their children,” Jamie murmured under his breath.</p><p>The woman gracefully turned to face him, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. Her tongue tracing her upper lip slowly. That was a scene that would stay in his memory for a while.</p><p>“Could you repeat that Fraser?” she asked, resting a hand on her chin.</p><p>“Ye said that maybe he thought he was helping these women, but... If it was the case, that he was an only child, raised by a single mother who didn't treat him well... Maybe he is doing it imagining it to be the best for the children.”</p><p>“He's killing their mums because he thinks it's the best for 'em?” Mhur said in disgust. “What a sick piss o' shit!”</p><p> . . .</p><p>Director Campbell, at the end of the day, decided that the best thing to do would be an official press release to report on the bone found in Aviemore and the progress of the investigations. The case that, at first, the police thought was simple... now became more challenging than before. The man also greeted Detective Beauchamp for the help she was giving to the case; he knew that if she weren't there, maybe things would go the other way.</p><p>Claire knew that they needed to race against time. Every minute they wasted was one less in the life of some woman in the city. She went to the room where the technical analyst, Rupert, was doing the searches she asked for, to check for new information. The man was a kind of hacker who tried to break into the police system years ago and, by agreement, ended up providing his services to the department so that he would not be arrested. She had come in there briefly before, with Fraser and Mhur, to meet him. Now, taking a good look at the room, the woman wrinkled her nose. She could hardly see anything, except for the five monitors that each contained different images and the coloured light that flashed from the keyboard.</p><p>The room was always dark, Rupert never left the light on because, according to Fraser, he was constantly hungover. Great.</p><p>“Of all the people missing in the database, there was a woman named…” the man brought his face close to the screen. “Fiona Graham, thirty-six, Nicholas's mother, 5 years old.”</p><p>Claire pulled out a chair to sit next to him, “And what did the police say at the time?”</p><p>Rupert scratched his head, remembering the case. He told the detective that they had worked on the hypothesis that the woman ran away and left the child with her grandparents and ended up not investigating further, since there was no report of seeing a dead body in the mountains at that moment.</p><p>The woman sighed thoughtfully. If this were the same woman they had found, it would cause great debate and commotion. It would only be a matter of time to identify the victim and to have that answer. </p><p>“Have you checked their social media and such?” she asked. </p><p>Rupert snorted, clicking his tongue and smiling, “ye will ruin the big surprise of the day,”</p><p>“Oh,” the woman crossed her legs and looked at him expectantly. “I hate surprises, please…”</p><p>The chubby man laughed and indicated the third monitor, which hung above the other two below. On the screen was an image of a group on Facebook, named <em> Inverness Single Mummies</em>.</p><p>“This group is on Facebook, it has over two thousand women participating and posting, yes, personal details about their lives and routines. Every day. They share stories and blah blah blah.”</p><p>Well, that was new.</p><p>“I was a bloody bampot for not realizing this before, but the other day I started to go through Jessica Bell's computer and when I joined her social media to take a look... There were several notifications from this group here. And I thought, <em> wow, this is interesting</em>, mostly by name. Better yet, I joined the group using a fake account and got accepted in just a few minutes,” he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “The best part is that all the victims are among the more than two thousand people in that group. All of them.”</p><p>Claire was speechless. This was a truly spectacular discovery. Could they then assume that it was from there that the suspect selected the victims? Rupert believed so, and moreover, all the victims were regular members of the group, always posting messages and references to <em>enjoying life </em>as a single mother.</p><p>The man smiled, “So? What d'ye think?”</p><p>Claire stood up and pressed his cheek in a wet kiss, “pure dead brilliant, Rupert,”</p><p>The moment the door opened, a sulky Angus watched the scene.</p><p>“Eh, when am I getting one of these?” he said, mocking.</p><p>“Rupert here just discovered something huge,” the man pointed at himself, full of pride. </p><p>Rupert began to analyze the accounts of the people who ran the Facebook group, to try to discover something suspicious. Maybe they still didn't have someone to aim for, but it was a start.</p><p>. . .</p><p>At about seven in the evening, the policemen finished their shift and headed for their homes. That was when Fraser invited her to join him and Mhur at his house, to have dinner with them. She didn't refuse this time, out of sheer interest to know more about his life and also because she didn't want to go back to her room and be alone with her thoughts.</p><p>The day had been a lot of work, and yes, she was exhausted. But she feared lying in bed to sleep and ending up having nightmares again. She had first been a bit uncomfortable to go to his house, to be quite honest. They were co-workers, and Claire's feminine instinct was unerring. She had already noticed, more than once, the way the redhead looked at her sometimes. But then she thought, <em> what the hell</em>, and went on with them. </p><p>The drive to Fraser's house was filled with laughter and conversation, with Angus telling funny stories of some cases that had already happened to them at work. The story continued when they were already at the table, helping themselves to a typical Scottish dish: Haggis. </p><p>The dish consisted of sheep tripe stuffed with offal, mixed with spices and linked with oatmeal. Claire had never tasted the food and tried not to let it show, but she couldn't deny that it made her nose wrinkle. Luckily for her, there was also mashed potatoes and salad.</p><p>“So you went into the room and...?” Jenny Fraser asked, taking another mouthful of food and stuffing it in her mouth with gusto.</p><p>“Aye, the laddie had his bahoochie out, ye know, getting in—” Angus blushed as he looked at Detective Beauchamp and swore. “I'm sorry, ma'am, I think—”</p><p>Claire rolled her eyes.</p><p>“We are <em>not </em>at the Station, Angus, so please, here I am just <em> Claire</em>,” she smiled. “Go on!”</p><p>“Aye, well, then he was there, the lassie under him and I went into the room with the gun on, because this dunderheid said it was the right bit,” Angus continued, while Jamie almost choked on laughter. “And, it turns out that we were in the wrong building! And she got up naked, pissed off that I got in the way, well... and threw the bloody shoe at me!”</p><p>The four of them laughed as Angus continued with the details of what had happened. For Claire it was good to be with nice people, talking about more pleasant subjects and not just about dead women and serial killers. But she had to ruin it by asking Jenny a question.</p><p>“Uh, do you know any Facebook groups called <em> Inverness single mummies</em>?” she tried to sound unassuming, stirring the mashed potatoes with the fork while looking away from the two policemen, who had stopped laughing.</p><p>Jenny didn't seem to notice what was going on and shrugged, “Nah. I'm not much of a social media user,”</p><p>“Ah, I see,”</p><p>Claire glanced at Jamie and he looked a bit uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn't be talking about it like that.</p><p>“And how old is your son?” she tried to change the subject.</p><p>“Four. A wee thunderstorm he is,”</p><p>She chuckled. </p><p>Throughout the night, they continued their conversation with more relaxed topics and Claire did not mention anything that would refer to the crimes again. Jenny asked about her life in London, her job and her famous aunt, Commissioner Cameron. The detective felt safe to respond and comment on what it was like to work at MPS, thankful that they didn't ask any personal questions.</p><p>That was until the moment the two women were in the kitchen, Claire had offered to help her with the dishes while Fraser and Mhur were talking in the living room.</p><p>“If ye dinna mind, are ye married?”</p><p>Claire wiped her hands with a cloth, her brows raised.</p><p>“No, I'm actually divorced,” she answered sincerely.</p><p>Jenny nodded, wiping her forehead.</p><p>“I didn't get married, so I can't say we broke up, eh?” she said good-naturedly. “But the bastard disappeared right after I told him about the bairn and I never saw him again,”</p><p>Claire crossed her arms, resting her back on the chair.</p><p>“I'm sure you're much better off without him,” she offered, to which the woman gave a grateful smile.</p><p>“Aye, Jamie has helped me since then. He loves his nephew, but... You know, stubborn men.”</p><p>The detective laughed, “what do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, he spends most of his time at work and home. He hardly ever goes out to have fun... Ugh,” she shook her head. “Sorry to tell you all this nonsense, after all, yer his boss.”</p><p>Claire didn't really care to hear, although maybe she thought the tall redhead wouldn't like to know that his sister was saying those things.</p><p>“Well, as his boss, I will try to force him to have more fun,” she teased. “Your brother is a good man, Jenny. He and Mhur were one of the few who treated me well when I got here.”</p><p>“Oh, I'm sure of that! He wouldn't hurt a fly if he wanted to,” Jenny pulled up a chair to sit down, but was surprised by her brother who appeared in the kitchen.</p><p>“I hope I'm not getting in the way,” he said, rubbing the reddish strands with his fingertips. Claire watched the boy, now without the black police uniform, wearing only a white T-shirt and jeans. He wasn't exactly bad to look at. “Ma’am, Angus is on his way to town, in case you want to go with him. Or,” he scratched his head again. “If ye want to stay, I can drop ye off at your hotel myself, and—”</p><p>She had the impression of hearing Jenny chuckled and realized how clumsy he seemed.</p><p>“It's fine, Fraser. I'll head out with Mhur.”</p><p>The woman thanked them for the hospitality and the excellent dinner and went with Officer Angus back to Inverness. When she got to her room, she finally took off all her clothes and rested for a few minutes lying in the bathtub, letting the hot water relax her muscles.</p><p>Later, on her bed, Claire tried to flood her thoughts with the fun moments she had at Fraser's house, remembering the story that Angus told and all the laughter they had shared. With the lights on, she finally fell asleep. </p><hr/><p>Dougal MacKenzie was not at all pleased with how things were going. He was certain that investigations were progressing, but he did not like the fact that everything was being attributed to the London detective's presence. It was even more ridiculous to see police director Campbell, drooling every word the woman said.</p><p>He had heard rumours about her, it was true, about the woman being away for a while before returning to active duty. But the reason was unknown, and perhaps that was what he needed to take control again.</p><p>Then he made a call, early in the morning, as he headed for the police station. The old friend, Inspector Hoffmann, retired a few months from MPS and known for, well, knowing everything about everyone.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Claire had been in the conference room since she arrived at work, talking to Fraser and Mhur about the night before, before finally returning to the subject of dead women and serial killer. While they were talking about the crime scenes, the woman had a feeling and asked someone to print an image of the map of Scotland.</p><p>She looked for a few minutes, observing the lines that indicated highways, the points demarcating the cities, the dotted lines... Four women had been killed (not counting the unidentified victim) in different places. She took a pencil and began to trace the regions: Kiltarlity, Inverness, Culloden, Aviemore. Was that descending line on purpose?</p><p>It was quite curious, in fact. She noticed that Jamie was watching her and then passed the map over so he could get a good look too. She felt on the verge of discovering something new. It was closer.</p><hr/><p>“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”</p><p>― <b>Marcel Proust</b></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for any mistake. I'm doing the best I can with some research, but I'm not in the field of forensic anthropology or the police. lol I hope you are enjoying this story. much more to come. =]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Burden of Insecurity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As in most of the year, the sky was overcast that autumn morning. It was both a privilege and a sacrifice to live far from the city and close to nature. But Jamie could always feel the fresh air early in the morning, even when it almost froze his bones. It was good to look out the window and see the leaves on the trees change colours, leaving the vibrant green and giving way to yellowish and brownish tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw in the background, his nephew Ian running after some chickens and he smirked. He went back inside, heading for the kitchen, where Jenny finished preparing tattie scones for breakfast. He tried to pinch a bite, but Jenny's hand was faster, cracking against the man's skin, making him laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a typical thing, since childhood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's like Hurricane Bawbag out there!” Jamie began, as his sister put a pitcher of orange juice on the table. “And Ian doesn't even seem to mind the wind,” he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, not at all,” she leaned over to stick her head out of the window, which was just above the dishwasher. “Ian, get back inside!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little boy came running inside, babbling about seeing a plane pass by a few moments ago. Jenny opened his lunch box, placing two sandwiches and a banana. He sat down next to his uncle to drink a glass of juice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yesterday was a very </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasant</span>
  </em>
  <span> evening,” Jenny started, taking a look at her brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, t'was,” he said simply, not understanding the connotation the woman had used.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I liked yer boss, she seems to be—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Argh,” he grunted, with mild irritation. “Please, dinna—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenny laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm just saying—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, ye were also </span>
  <em>
    <span>just saying </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same thing about the bakery girl, and the diner girl, and the—” he shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenny came over to wipe little Ian's mouth with the hem of her skirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just care about ye, ye bloody fool!” she replied. “And I'm not blind either,” she crossed her arms looking at him. “It's funny to see ye act so shy,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie rolled his eyes, only worrying about picking up as many tattie scones with the fork he could get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d also be shy if yer boss came to yer house for dinner,” he reasoned. “But she is a, uh, very smart woman,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenny smirked, ruffling her kid's hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And pretty,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, she is, I ken,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>you ken</span>
  </em>
  <span>,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie stood up, sighing, “and that's it for today!” he left the kitchen and headed for his room, which was on the same ground floor. The man finished dressing, placing his vest on top and his hat twirling between his fingers. Upon returning to the kitchen to get his lunch, he heard his sister ask:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was she saying yesterday, anyway?” Jenny was kneeling, buttoning little Ian's coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn't quite understand... if I knew a group called Mums from Inverness? Or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dismissed, not wanting her to give too much attention for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T's nothing, just work,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it have anything to do with the dead women?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made him turn to look her right in the eye, “didn't ye say that we shouldn't talk about it here? Because of him?” the man said in a whisper, making his sister laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, but ye dinna say anything at all and I'm in the dark,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie squeezed her shoulder when the woman got up and picked up the keys to the truck on the table. He hadn't said the nasty details that involved the case for her, just what was important for her to know: women were being killed and she needed to be careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T's nothing, but ye should  do the basics: dinna talk to strangers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her younger brother's serious tone made her snort and shake her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, I'll drop Ian at the nursery and you at your job,” he offered, which made her raise her eyebrows in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is serious then,” she observed, amid the sentence trying to sound funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I just care about ye, ye bloody fool!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>At lunchtime, while some policemen went out to eat in the restaurants near the police station or gathered in the cafeteria, DCI Beauchamp continued in her office, analyzing all the papers at her disposal while nibbling on a cheese sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a high chance that the bones found by the officers belonged to Fiona Graham. The DNA samples had been sent and now it was only a matter of time before the results arrived. It was evident to Claire that the way the case had been handled from the beginning had been extremely amateurish and careless, it was a never-ending rollercoaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sergeant MacKenzie looked like the type of man who had worked in the same place for years, earning credits for ridiculous things and settling in on the case, since there was no one qualified enough to get him out of his position. Claire hated that, hated it with all her strength because that abuse of power reminded her constantly of what she had been through. And that memory was unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the results came, she made a decision herself: she took her coat and left her office, going to Fraser’s desk and asking him to take her to an address. They knew that Fiona’s son, Nicholas, had been with her before the woman disappeared; He had been found alone in the parking lot of a restaurant. The boy was perhaps the last person to see her alive and Claire yearned to hear what he had to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was obvious to Claire that Fiona Graham would never have run away and left the child like that, she just wished that the police at the time had had that same thought. When they arrived at Fiona Graham's house, the scene was not very pleasant: it looked more like an abandoned and haunted place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A frightened old man appeared when they knocked on the door, but Fraser said they just wanted to talk and he relaxed a bit, letting them in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it looked bad outside, inside the house it was even worse. The closed windows left the atmosphere extremely claustrophobic, but that was not all: there were many things piled up in the living room, or what the living room should be. Many boxes, various objects and the smell was quite unpleasant. The old man himself looked in poor health, coughing constantly and wearing ragged clothes. The two policemen were appalled by the situation and how anyone could live that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beauchamp let Fraser direct the questions to the man while she looked around the rooms. The situation only worsened as the detective passed between places. The kitchen was a real mess, with a huge pile of dishes in the sink that seemed to have been there for months. The refrigerator had water, some oranges and milk. She did not venture to open the cabinets for fear that something would fall on her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amid so much disorder she had even forgotten that there should be a child living there too. And it made her heart beat faster. The woman returned to the living room and interrupted Fraser, asking:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where's Nicholas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man scratched his nose, his eyes drawn, “he’s in his room, down the hall. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesna</span>
  </em>
  <span> like visitors very much, lassie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman nodded, but followed the path indicated by the man and walked to the child’s room. She entered the place and was surprised to find that the place looked technically much better visually than the rest of the house. There was an open window, which she was thankful for, and the light breeze blew through space, circulating the air and renewing the scent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The child was in the centre of the room, his back to her. It was certain that the place was not exactly tidy, but seemed to be a normal kid’s room. There were many papers scattered throughout it, with different designs. The boy didn’t seem to realize that she was there, or if he did, he didn’t care enough to turn around. Claire took a few steps foward, being careful not to step on the papers on the floor and ended up realizing that all the drawings were the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicholas, my name is Claire,” she walked over to face him, crouching at the boy’s height on the floor. The boy didn’t look up at her, and he continued to rock his body while drawing. “What are all these drawings?” when she moved a hand towards it as if she was going to take one, the child looked at her suddenly and gave a fierce growl. She raised her hands and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The detective took a good look at the drawing then; it seemed to be a man or the best silhouette of a man that a 5-year-old could draw. And it was curious that that same image was repeated in all the other papers scattered around the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it was not curious, it was quite obvious. And she needed to know what that heck that meant to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid, could you tell me a little bit about these drawings you make?” she tried again, but to no avail. The boy continued what he was doing ignoring her presence there. Claire sighed and frowned; she had no property to talk about it, but she was in doubt as to whether that child was suffering from some kind of PTSD — which would be absolutely normal in that situation — or if he was suffering from some kind of psychological disorder which he had before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She decided to leave him alone, but first took some pictures of the drawings with her mobile. She returned to the living room while Jamie was still questioning the man. The redhead looked at her, eyebrows raised and sly eyes. She tried to communicate with him without speaking, pointing with her head to the hall and pursing her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Graham, has Nicholas been following up on therapy?” she didn't even know if the child had regular appointments with doctors or not but Claire decided to throw that question by surprise to see if she could get anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looked uncomfortable, slightly dejected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dinna— I haven't been able to get him there,” he confessed, with drooping eyebrows and a saddened look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fraser looked at her with compassion and the woman nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me ask you something,” she started, moving closer to where they were, but not wanting to bump into the boxes piled in the corners. “What are those drawings that he makes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dinna ken,” he shrugged. “It's been so long since he started doing this that I think it's normal, it's part of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>disease</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claire raised an eyebrow, in doubt. Not that she thought the man was lying, but that that was the real reason for the drawings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he ever stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a sad smile, “aye, he does. And then he goes back at it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just another question: did it start right after Fiona’s disappearance?” Officer Fraser asked, not really knowing what the drawings were like, but trusting the detective’s instinct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Graham looked at him and nodded, rising from the dusty sofa. Claire and Jamie looked at each other again, talking through their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re on our way, but we’ll have to call social services, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that the man looked horrified, his eyes were desperate and his hands were shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, there is no need to do that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie positioned himself between the old man and the detective, “I'm sorry, Gary, but it's what needs to be done. Ye canna raise a child like that, in such a place…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But— They’re going to take him away and he’s all I have... His mother’s gone and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claire took a step forward, resting a hand on the man's shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you're also all he has, so you both need help.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sergeant MacKenzie was a little happier that day. It was his birthday, fifty years old and that, in itself, was already a cause for celebration for the policeman. But something was also getting him excited that Friday: Inspector Hoffmann had told him some important things he couldn't wait to share with Director Campbell and, who knows, so he could take control again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew that the detective had gone to God knows where with the young Fraser and took the opportunity to go to Colum's office. The old man was smoking a cigarette and distracted, being caught off guard and almost falling out of his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Great working day, isn’t it?” MacKenzie said sarcastically, taking a seat in the armchair facing the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacKenzie smiled, “well, I just wanted to talk a little. I actually heard some things from DCI Beauchamp this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Director Campbell leaned across the table, balancing the cigar between his fingers, unenthusiastic about the direction the conversation was taking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please enlighten me, Dougal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think this woman should be here,” he started, his tone becoming more aggressive. “I heard some things about her </span>
  <em>
    <span>relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her husband, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That left Campbell in a state of alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know that? And what do you know, exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dougal chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard that she did something wrong and the police husband covered it up,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Campbell sighed and leaned back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dougal, the story goes much deeper than that, but I guarantee you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder how this woman is still a Detective Chief Inspector,” the sergeant asked himself, wanting to upset the director even more. “It is certain that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jocasta and I have been friends for a long time and you know that,” Campbell got up from his chair, walked around the table and stopped in front of the glass wall, where he could see all the staff outside the room. “And she completely trusts DCI Beauchamp's ability, otherwise she wouldn't have suggested her to lead this case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Dougal could elaborate further, the two saw their topic of discussion approach the room in a hurry. The woman waggled her eyebrows as if asking for permission to enter, and Director Campbell gestured with his hand for her to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked a little out of breath and only acknowledged the sergeant's presence with a nod, but addressed Director Campbell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just got back from the Fiona Graham family home—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fiona Graham,” the director scratched his forehead. “Could you help me remember her, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sergeant just watched the interaction, waiting for the right moment to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fiona Graham, 36, disappeared almost a year ago and we suspect that the bone found in Aviemore belongs to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The detective looked upset, “I'm just— Sergeant, could you excuse us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dougal chuckled, crossing his legs and making no mention of getting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever ye have to say about the case, I'm all ears, detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claire, angry as she was, shrugged and looked only at the director.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, it seems to me that, well, the way they handled this woman’s disappearance was terribly careless,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, d’ye think so?” MacKenzie intervened. “How so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman sighed, resting her hand on the wooden table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What matters is that, as it seems, the child has drawn portraits of the suspect and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Portraits? Could we use them?” Campbell seemed interested enough to get up, but DCI's expression made him sit down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are drafts of a five-year-old child, I'm afraid we couldn't use them as a sketch, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So your visit to the house was of no use, then?” The sergeant attacked again, but his tone was always light and ironic. “Maybe that's why I didn’t pursue the investigation with that family myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could not see the woman roll her eyes, but the director did, and she smiled at him, a smile without joy, just of pure irritation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently, the child has autism and was living in a deplorable situation with his grandfather,” she added ruefully. “We also found out that Fiona Graham was part of the group of single mothers and now Rupert is trying to find out if all women have known each other before or have kept in touch in some way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Campbell put his hands together in a snap and smiled, “This is excellent, Detective. Oh—” he looked at his mobile, which started to ring and excused himself out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claire finally turned to face the sergeant and, behind him, through the glass door saw Officer Fraser and Mhur looking at her with some expectation. She wanted to laugh. If there was at least one good thing about working on such a grotesque and revolting case, it was making new friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sergeant MacKenzie brought her back to reality by clearing her throat and getting up, standing between her and the view she had of the two policemen outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Frank Randall,</span>
  </em>
  <span> does that name remind ye of anything?” the man said with no further ado, a cynical smile adorning his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Detective Beauchamp felt her entire body freeze when she heard it. The woman took a deep breath, her jaw locked and her eyes fierce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dougal grinned, “I just talked to a friend yesterday, work stuff and it was such a nice coincidence. Your husband—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ex-husband</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she greeted her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ex-husband</span>
  </em>
  <span> seems like a very nice man, don't ye think? I don't understand why ye—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman pursed her lips, “that's none of your business, sergeant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I just mentioned that I'm working with ye now, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made her extremely on edge, but she didn't want to let on all the nervousness she felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you say I'm working here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think people already know that,” the sergeant said as if it were not a big deal, turning to take a cigar from the box on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claire bit her lip, being careful not to make the surface bleed, although she was eager to go to the bathroom and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going with this conversation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don't think ye're perfect as ye’re trying so hard to seem,” MacKenzie approached her again, looking the woman straight in the eye. “And I know ye did something </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he covered you up.” Dougal smiled, adding, before leaving the room: “Have a nice day, Detective.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Detective Beauchamp felt the adrenaline arousing the unwanted effects on her body: her face, which was already white, became pale, her breathing became laboured and her heartbeat became faster. She felt angry, irritated, but more than anything, she felt scared. And that feeling was even worse than all the others together because it showed how much it still affected her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was clear that it still affected her. And now Sergeant MacKenzie seemed to know, perhaps not everything, but enough to feel entitled to provoke her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She, still in Director Campbell’s office, looked up and found dark blue eyes staring back, with a worried and confused look. The woman composed herself and left the room, knowing that they followed her every move. She would even have to cross the room to get to her office, which was on the other side. But the celebration hindered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some fellow police officers started clapping and singing “Happy Birthday” to Sergeant MacKenzie and approached carrying trays of sweets, cookies and the like. Claire walked to the corner of the room, snorting and following the rhythm of the palms. It would be very evident her discomfort with the sergeant if she simply left. And she didn't want to give that man satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Officer Fraser approached her, holding a plastic cup and drinking the liquid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D'ye mind if I ask what happened there?” the man said, his voice gentle, but he didn't look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie wanted to know what they had been talking about inside, but mostly because whatever the sergeant had said made the detective nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't want to look like a snooper, but... since she arrived at the police station, he felt driven to help her somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I honestly don't know how—” she seemed to hesitate, but he finally looked at her, and the detective felt at ease to say. “I don't know how you lot can handle working with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the two saw the sergeant in the centre of the room, full of applause and pampering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he started, not looking at her again, but feeling her eyes all over his face. “Maybe because there was no one better to take charge... Until now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Officer Fraser’ eyes crinkled at the corners, leaving the woman a bit uncomfortable with the interaction, without knowing exactly why. Perhaps she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did know</span>
  </em>
  <span> but did not want to acknowledge it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie scratched his neck, running his finger through the collar of his shirt. “And I enjoy working with you, detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was still looking straight ahead, for which she was grateful. Maybe she didn’t know how to act if— And she also didn’t know that he would never have the courage to utter the words out loud looking into her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there he was, making her uncomfortable again. Claire would rather be afraid than feel that. Or maybe she was afraid to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman cleared her throat, “I like working with you too, Fraser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fraser seemed to notice the woman’s discomfort and then added: “Whatever he said, don’t give too much importance. He likes to play with words... He did this to me right at the beginning when I got here,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes to intimidate people, certainly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, but don’t let that have the effects he wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled now, bumping his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for the advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beauchamp said, knowing that it would be difficult to follow.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“It has always seemed that a fear of judgment is the mark of guilt and the burden of insecurity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>― </span>
  <b>Criss Jami, </b>
  <b>Killosophy</b>
</p>
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